'That foolish trimming--it's always getting stepped on.' Miss Levering's search had produced a pin. 'No; I'll just pull it off.' Ernestine did so, and proceeded to drop a yard of it out of the window. Miss Levering began to laugh. 'Which way are we going?' says Miss Blunt, looking out. 'I have to be at Battersea at----' 'What were you doing at Pimlico Pier?' 'Holding a meeting for the Government employees--the people who work for the Army and Navy Clothing Department.' 'Oh. And you live at Battersea?' 'No; but I have a meeting there to-night. We had a very good one at the Docks, too.' Her eyes sparkled. 'A Suffrage meeting?' 'Yes; one of the best we've had----' 'When was that?' 'During the dinner hour. The men stood with their pails and ate while they listened. They were quite nice and understanding, those men.' 'What day was that?' 'This morning.' 'And the Battersea meeting?' 'That's not for another hour; but I have to be there first--to arrange.' 'When do you dine?' 'Oh, I'll get something either before the meeting or after--whenever there's time.' 'Isn't it a pity not to get your food regularly? Won't you last longer if you do?' 'Oh, I shall last.' She sat contentedly, hugging her big portfolio. The lady glanced at the carriage clock. 'In the house where I live, dinner is a sort of sacred rite. If you are two seconds late you are disgraced, so I'm afraid I can't----' 'There's the bus I was waiting for!' Ernestine thrust her head out. 'Stop, will you!' she commanded the astonished Henderson. 'Good-bye.' She nodded, jumped out, shut the door, steadied her hat, and was gone. It was so an acquaintance began that was destined to make a difference to more than one life. Those days of the summer that Miss Claxton spent indoctrinating the women of Wales, and that Mrs. Chisholm utilized in 'organizing Scotland,' were dedicated by Ernestine and her friends to stirring up London and the various dim and populous worlds of the suburbs.